


Under My Thumb

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a wrongness to Lord English that turns the entire air around him foul, that distorts the world and twists and perverts it. Snowman takes a breath, doing her best to stand it. The taste lingers in the back of her nose and throat though, reminding her of a truth she can never forget: he is Wrong and not part of anything natural or good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Thumb

“English wants to see you,” Says Crowbar, and Snowman stares down at her chess board, looking at the black queen in front of her. It seems like no matter how she plays the game these days, she always ends up with a queen in this position.

“Just a moment,” She moves the queen forward, into the path of Scratch's king, casting her eyes up to look at Scratch, “We’ll continue this later.”

“Of course,” Scratch takes the queen off the board, and rises as she rises, nodding to her. She nods back and follows Crowbar down the hall. They’re quiet as they walk beside one another though the green halls of the mansion.

They stop in front of English’s study. It’s clear that he’s inside because the door doesn’t look right, and there’s that weird green light crawling through the cracks. Crowbar pitches his voice down low, as if the volume actually mattered, “Sorry Snowman.”

“It’s fine,” She assures him, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. Snowman knows she shouldn’t, not with English just on the other side of the door, but she does. There’s very little she can do to rebel against Lord English, but she can do this.

Crowbar looks like he wants to say more, but he’s smart enough not to. He nods and heads down the hall, moving with a purpose that she’s not sure he even feels. Snowman watches him disappear before opening the door and stepping inside.

It hits her like a punch in the gut when she walks in the door. There’s a wrongness to him that turns the entire air around him foul, that distorts the world and twists and perverts it. She takes a breath, doing her best to stand it. The taste lingers in the back of her nose and throat though, reminding her of a truth she can never forget: he is Wrong and not part of anything natural or good.

English raises his head, his features jagged and dangerous. When he speaks, his words sound strange, stretched into a mouth that was never meant to speak, “Keep it up, and you'll turn that frog into a prince.”

Snowman doesn't rise to the bait, crossing the room and sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk. From here, she can see the curl of the Handmaid's horns and hear her at work. Her head moves up and down English's cock, sucking ever so softly on it. Lord English has one hand wrapped in the curve of her horn, and he shoves her head down further, just to make her choke. Snowman does her best to hide any reaction to it. It's best not to let English know how she feels, even if it is rather fruitless. "Sir? What would you like me to do?"

"Drop the act. Coyness doesn't suit you." He hauls the Handmaid off of his cock, tossing her onto the floor. Lord English is in a foul mood today. That doesn't bode well for her or the Handmaid. "Take your clothes off."

Snowman gets to her feet and slowly strips. She doesn't have all that many layers, so she simply makes them count. There's no winning with English, but there are little victories here and there. She has all the time in the universe, and she makes it clear to him that she does. Her things go onto her chair one by one, until she slides her underwear off and she's left naked. "Is this to your liking?"

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't have hired you." He taps the desk in front of him and Snowman strolls over, sliding onto it. She crosses her legs and wishes she had a cigarette to smoke, just so she could 'accidentally' blow the smoke in his face. His long sharp fingers grab her knees and paw them apart. For a man who calls himself a Lord, he certainly has no class. His touch stings ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind Snowman that this man has no place in this universe. He grabs hold of the Handmaid's horns and yanks her up again, shoving her face against Snowman's cunt. "Warm her up."

"How considerate of you," Snowman remarks coolly. She can get away with these things because she knows he won't hurt her. He can't hurt her. Putting the universe inside of her means she's protected from the same physical violence the Handmaid endures. But it doesn't protect her from this, from sitting on his desk and letting him leer at her naked breasts, or from having the Handmaid part her lips and slide her tongue inside Snowman, going to work on her clit.

She doesn't touch the Handmaid. Her hands rest on the desk and keep her upright, but she refuses to touch the troll at work on her cunt. It's not quite kindness. They're in the same boat, forced to serve Lord English and to do as he bids, but that doesn't make them friends or allies. Snowman can't afford to ally herself with English's left hand, who receives no respect from the hulking monster, whereas Snowman is afforded some at least. She's never been forced to kneel and serve as the Handmaid now serves.

This is not the first time the Handmaid has buried her face between Snowman's thighs and set her tongue to work. Lord English enjoys watching the two of them together. Some days, that's enough for him, watching Snowman writhe while the Handmaid fucks her with the blunt end of those needles. Not today though. His cock is hard and he's got one hand wrapped around it, stroking it just often enough to stay erect.

The Handmaid is very good at her job. Her tongue moves at a steady pace, sliding over the little nub of flesh just fast enough to arouse Snowman. Those blank eyes are fixed on Snowman, carefully watching for signs. Snowman presses her lips together and does her best to keep the quiet moan rising in his throat from getting out. The Handmaid still hears her, and her licking speeds up, causing Snowman to dig her fingers into the desk.

"That's enough, girl." English tells the Handmaid. She doesn't stop fast enough, and he grabs her, yanking her away. "I said that's enough. Or are you that desperate to be the Felt's whore again?"

"No sir," The Handmaid's voice is dull and quiet. The sound of it always bothers Snowman. It's beyond just hopeless.

"Then do what I fucking tell you to do when I tell you to do it." He lets go of her and rises from his chair. Snowman stays seated, her thighs spread wide enough for the Handmaid's head, but not for English's hulking torso. His fingers take holds of her, gripping her breasts carelessly, then sliding down to her legs, parting them wider for him. English shakes off the vulgar rage that gripped him, trading it in for something that thinks it's smoothing than it is. "You've been playing chess with Scratch again."

"Of course. He's the only one who knows the game." Snowman meets those flashing cueball eyes. She sees her own number cycle there, the flash of black among the solids and stripes. "Does that bother you?"

"There's no point in it. He already knows the ending of every game. You lose. He wins." It's hard to tell his emotional state. English always looks like he's grinning, even when he's furious. The bare teeth make it impossible to tell his mood. He glances at the Handmaid, nodding towards his cock. "Do your duty, girl."

She does it. The Handmaid wraps her hand around Lord English's cock and strokes it a few times, holding it steady as he steps close to the desk. She's the one who guides the head into Snowman's cunt, slips it between her lips and presses it against her entrance. Again it stings, a constant low-level reminder that she won't be able to shake as long as he's inside of her. Snowman lays back on the desk, settled between paperwork and books and assorted other paraphernalia salvaged from other dead universes. One day, these things will be on another desk in another universe, with another woman spread out on them. She thinks of this as English's cock slides ever so slowly into her, and not of how it feels to have him inside of her.

His greedy hands curl around her waist as he sinks into her, that broad barrel chest looming over her. Lord English thrusts, and her breasts shake from the force. She catches the sound in the back of her throat, but not the second one. That one escapes, soft shocked moan as he thrusts again. Right now, she wants to be anywhere but here, with anyone but him and his lapdog. English doesn't know the meaning of gentle, and once the Handmaid is out of the way, he fucks Snowman forcefully.

It's impossible to keep quiet. She tries for as long as she can without straining, but the time comes when she has to just give in. English is a demon, and nowhere it is clearer than here, with his hands pawing her and his cock inside of her. She can't stay quiet anymore than she can resist him. All the small victories give way in the end, until she's moaning on his desk and doing exactly as he commands.

The stars on her skin are glowing, and English is taken by them, the flashing lights of his eyes reflecting off her body as he sweeps his eyes up and down. "What a pretty prize you are. The best whore I have."

Her teeth clench at that word, like her body clenches around his cock. She's tense and infuriated by it, wishing both were simply gone and not in her presence. "Don't use that word."

"I'll use it all I like. That's what you are. You come when I call, you do as you're told." That eternal grin looks down at her, but he's not amused anymore. He pushes her legs wider apart, wide enough that it hurts. "Your cunt is mine. If you think I've given you any fucking reason to think otherwise, I'll remind you who has the real power here."

"I didn't-" She struggles to speak with English still inside her, with his cock pushing in where no one else reaches. "I wasn't doubting your power. I was making a request-"

He pulls out of her, and Snowman fights to catch her breath and to keep her composure. English pulls her off the desk, turning her around and pushing her back down, face-forward onto it. She protects her face, arms coming up to take the brunt of the blow. He knocks her thighs wide and slams into her without any warning, and she cries out. Snowman hates this, hates that what little appearance of power she had in his arrangement can be so easily taken from her by him.

"I make the requests." He presses his front against her back, pinning her against the desk. He's heavy, bigger than even her husband, and all of his weight pressing down on her hurts like hell. Snowman grabs hold of the edges, trying to stay calm. She can't teleport away, not with him inside of her. And she can't afford to make him any angrier. His hand grips the back of her neck and holds her still as he thrusts into her. "Don't you push me. I own the clothes on your back, and the food in your belly. I let you leave when you like. I even let you give away my cunt to other men instead of charging them for it. I could take that all away in a fucking heartbeat and have you turning tricks with the Handmaid. I could make you earn your keep. Do you want that?"

She feels a bolt of fear run through her. Snowman's seen the Handmaid's duties. She's been forced to watch now and again after a particular successful robbery as the Handmaid services the Felt. There are some who say no, some like Crowbar, but there are enough to say yes without a thought. For a moment she pictures herself there with the Handmaid, on her knees, doing whatever she's told and she shudders out an answer. "No."

"Maybe you'd like me to call your frog inside? He's standing in the hall, pretending he can't hear you moaning." English's cock is so deep inside of her right now, and she shudders again, not entirely in horror. His hands settle on her backside, squeezing her ass as he rocks in and out of her, the possessive nature of his touches just as upsetting as the words coming out of his mouth. "Crowbar's a good and loyal man. He'll sit right there and watch me fuck you without blinking an eye, without saying a word. I could set the Handmaid on him. He's the one with thing for aliens, ain't he"

"No, no don't." She doesn't want to beg, but the thought of Crowbar seeing her like this is worse than begging. He respects her, and he won't if he sees her like this, humbled and humiliated. Snowman's dignity is what keeps her going, keeps her head high. She won't lose that, no matter what she has to say, to keep it outside of Lord English's office. Her fingers hold tight to the desk. "I shouldn't have questioned your words. Y-you know better than I on this matters."

"I want to hear it from you. Tell me what you are." He holds her steady as he speeds up. Her body can't take much more of this. English's voice drips into her ear, killing her one word at a time. "Tell me."

"I'm your whore." The words are like poison. They burn to say. He laughs and he fucks her steadily. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to hold her hips the right way, cooperating in order to end this sooner rather than later. He pushes them up, until she's on her tip-toes, and he thrusts down into her. It's more than she can handle. Snowman moans helplessly as the orgasm builds, hoping Crowbar isn't listening in.

"And who does your cunt belong to?" He's pounding into her, his cock so big that she's already becoming sore. Her world's narrowed down to the sound of his voice, and the cock inside of her. Snowman's carapace crawls at his touch, the power deep inside of her reminding Snowman how wrong English is.

"You." Snowman shudders as he pushes in deep. She clings to her dignity, or to the illusion of it at least, and tries not to hear the words coming out of her mouth. "Lord English."

"Remember that. Or the next time you need a reminder, I'll have them stuff every hole in your fucking body ." He thrusts into her and she's just on the edge, hands shaking with the effort. She can't see his face when she's looking towards the door, but she knows what he looks like now, triumphant and eternally amused by her degradation. "Now come."

She doesn't, at least, not right away. Another small rebellion, the kind he can't punish her for because he can't be sure it's rebellion or not. Snowman holds out just long enough to make it clear that she won't do as he says. And then the Handmaid's fingers slide against her clit and she goes, gasping and moaning and crying out against the desk. Among the warm glow of pleasure, she feels rage blossom in her heart. The Handmaid took his side, even when she wasn't commanded to.

Lord English continues to fuck her, even as Snowman lays limp against the desk. His hands turn her hips up to suit him, and he uses her, reducing her to just a vessel to house his cock. Snowman tries to catch her breath, to think her way out of the haze surrounding her brain. The Handmaid's fingers stay upon her clit, circling and rubbing and making her body tense as the sensation stays on the edge of pain and pleasure.

Just as it becomes too much, English pulls out of her. Snowman glances back, just in time to see him thrust his cock into the Handmaid's mouth. She looks so resigned, doing nothing as he forces her head up and down his cock. She knows the moment he comes because English makes a sound that takes all the air out of the room, and the Handmaid's eyes go black. His cock must pushing against the back of her throat because she's choking a little on it, desperately trying to breath through her nose as he comes in her mouth. English holds her down until the Handmaid's eyes fall shut, and when he pulls her off, it's hard to tell if she's conscious or not. He drops her on the floor, and she coughs, revealing that she's the former instead of the latter.

Snowman turns back over and slides off the desk. Her legs are weak and she keeps one hand against the desk and she walks over to her clothes. She dresses without asking permission. Snowman wants nothing so much at this moment than a shower. Well... maybe a shower, and then for Crowbar to hold her. He won't ask her for anything she doesn't want to give. He's the only thing in this fucked up mansion that makes her feel like she's got control. Snowman doesn't like to think about what will happen the day that he dies. She's got all the time in the world, but he's still mortal and his time will run out sooner or later.

The Handmaid tucks Lord English into his torn shorts and then gets to her feet. Snowman watches her with silent contempt. Part of her knows that they should be allies. It's clear that neither of them enjoy this service. But they aren't allies. Snowman is constantly glad that she is not in the Handmaid's place. And the Handmaid? Well, it's quite clear she resents Snowman for not suffering as she suffers, for being something unique and irreplaceable that English has to give some leeway, some manner of respect. Maybe one day...

No, that's not even wishful thinking. They both know they can't trust one another.

"Is there anything else you need?" She wants to leave immediately, but she knows she can't. He's already in a foul mood. If she walks out, he'll come up with some other way to humiliate her. Just because he can't hurt her doesn't mean he can't make her suffer.

English walks towards her, his pegleg thunking against the floor of his study. He leans in, and for a moment, it's almost as if he's going to kiss her. But he doesn't. His hand slides under her skirt, grabbing hold of her cunt and giving it a squeeze. She stays placid, ignoring the creeping feeling on her carapace. The part of her that wants to bat his hand away stays deep inside where it won't make this any worse than it already is. "Remember who owns this when you let some other man inside."

"Of course." She stays quite still, until his hand withdraws. Then she just tucks her skirt back in place and heads out the door. It's a struggle when her legs are weak, but she's spiteful and determined, and she makes it out without wobbling once. The door falls shut, and she's out of sight once more.

Crowbar's nearby, down the hall a few doors. If he heard any of it, he doesn't let it show on his face. Instead, he scrambles to his feet and heads over, offering her an arm. She takes it, and only Crowbar gets to see how shaken she is. He doesn't even need to ask, he just guides her towards her room.


End file.
